Wasted time

The geniuses with the Geek Squad finally called today to tell me my computer was ready for pick-up. Three to five days my ass. I know, I know, I should be jumping for joy that they fixed it and no data was lost, but mainly I'm just been pissed about the lack of communication and crappy customer service. I'm lucky I have the gift of always seeing the dark side. To make matters worse I have been sick for the past few days and wanted nothing more than to treat my symptoms with celebrity gossip and internet voyeurism. But while Ryan is willing to bring his computer home for me to use at night, he says he needed it during the day for "work." Whatever.

I pick up my my computer tomorrow, and then, look out. I may never go offline again....

Read more →

I'm here to help

This is the year of building a better Libby. I am getting a slow start, I will admit, but I have big plans of getting healthier and being more productive. Tonight I started back at yoga class, and I have actually been keeping appointments, returning phone calls and following through with things I said I would do. It’s amazing. There has, however, been a slight hitch with one of the things I decided I need to do – volunteering.

I have always considered volunteering, after all, I was raised by my Mother to have a healthy sense of guilt. After I started working an earlier shift last year I thought to myself “now I have the afternoons to save the world.” It was either that or starting to drink earlier, which I seriously considered. I looked into several volunteer opportunities, made a few calls to find out about hours, then figured I had done my part and pushed it to the back burner. That is, until last night. My inner do-gooder got the better of me and I went to my first volunteer orientation at the Utah AIDS foundation. It was only when I got in the room and was trapped that I realized why volunteering wasn’t a good idea – I hate people.

There were about 10 people there to learn about volunteer opportunities, and several of them weren’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts if you catch my drift. One of the men interjected at almost every opportunity “I just want to finish my 46 hours and get my life back. Occasionally he would add something about cabinetry work, having his own place again, or his brother, but the chorus always included the 46 hours and the desire to get back his life. Now, I am very aware that it is admirable that this man is trying to pay off his debt to society and get back on the straight and narrow, but why can’t he do it quietly?

Another guy in the group had apparently never heard of AIDS, or if he had he thought it was a dietetic candy. As the group leader started laying out how the disease is transmitted, how it progresses, and how people can protect themselves, this man’s face got paler and paler. He finally started asking questions like “wait, someone can have HIV for ten years and not know it,” or “can it be transmitted through tears.” The leader answered the questions very patiently, correcting common misconceptions, and then asked if the man would like to pick up a pamphlet on the way out. If I had been leading the group I may have asked him which one of Jupiter’s moons he had been living on for the past ten years, and if they gave free unicorn rides there.

Of course, both of these men paled in comparison with my favorite participant, a man who just kept repeating the mantra “that is fucked up.” Mothers passing HIV through breast milk? Fucked up. People not knowing they had been exposed to the disease until a decade later? Fucked up. And the possibility that someone could get HIV through kissing if they and their partner have large open sores in their mouths? Definitely fucked up.

I left the meeting unsure if I could volunteer to work with people in the community, many of them who need serious help. After all, I couldn’t get through the orientation without wanting to bang my head, or someone else’s head, into a wall. I thought about maybe volunteering at a place where I don’t have to deal with people, like Antarctica. Then I remembered I really hate wearing snow pants. And then I thought about how I should try wearing snow pants again, since I’m trying new things. And then I thought about how volunteering and is a new thing, and a good way to build a better Libby. Then I slapped myself in the forehead in order to start thinking about other things, like pizza.

So, I guess I’ll try volunteering after all. If nothing else, maybe I’ll learn patience, which I hear is a good thing to have. I just hope I don’t kill anyone first. That would be fucked up.

Read more →

Bizarrro world

Ryan came home tonight and informed me that Heath ledger was found dead in his apartment. Yes, I was getting celebrity gossip from my "People" adverse husband. I knew nothing having been offline since I left work. I was actually at a museum...

This computer thing is getting serious.

Read more →

Disconnected

There are few things that I really fear and actively worry about. I worry about death, going broke, losing one of my front teeth and not being able to fix it because I’m broke and having people laugh at me and shun me because of my broken front tooth and lack of money. After this weekend though I have a new worry – one that trumps all of the others because I now know it’s possible, terrible, and truly life shaking -- the death of my hard drive.

Yesterday started off like any other Saturday. Birds chirped, the sun shone, and I didn’t get out of bed until 10. All was right with the world. I showered, poured a diet Pepsi and sat down with my laptop to check up on the world and see if by some miracle overnight George Bush had been thrown from office and replaced with someone reasonable – like Hulk Hogan. However, my computer wouldn’t boot up. The screen remained dark, with just a blinking cursor. And then it began making a noise like a robotic kitten being strangled. I turned it off. I turned it back on. Nothing changed. I moved it from the counter to the table, giving it a light tap on the side. No better. I leaned down and very softly asked it to wake up, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. I actually think it started screaming louder to mock me.

I didn’t know what to do. If Sally or Ryan had started making a weird noise and wouldn’t wake up I would just call the vet, but with my computer acting in this strange way I was at a loss. I couldn’t even look up what I should do, because I didn’t have my computer to help me. Suddenly the world felt very cold and confusing, and I started wondering if I were on some sort of Mexican practical joke show. Finally, through the fog of my mind, I remembered two words -- “Geek Squad,” and was out the door.

The guy who helped me was maybe 21 and probably still doesn’t have to shave every day. I took this as a good sign though. After all, surely this child computer whiz could just tap my computer or hit Alt, Shift, F8 and every thing would be okay. However, it wasn’t to be. “Yeah, you’re hard drive is toasted,” was all he said. He said it without pretense, and with very little emotion, making me very glad he wasn’t a doctor, and making the pain that much worse.

He started laying out all it would cost me to make my computer whole again. Money had very little meaning for me at the moment, so I just nodded dumbly, agreeing to everything including the donation of my kidney if a fellow Geek was in need. I just needed my computer back. Then he asked me if I wanted data recovery, or if I had everything already backed up on a separate heard drive, and I almost lost consciousness.

I know about the importance of backing up computer data. I have seen the episode of “Sex and the City” where Carrie loses everything. I am familiar with zip drives and those little sticks nerds carry around on their key chains containing the history of the world and their high gaming scores. Ryan and I had even just gotten a separate hard drive to back up everything his work and my home computer. We just hadn’t done it yet. Data recovery would be necessary – if there was any data to be found.

I left the store without my computer, but with a bill for $461. The Geek, hoping to make me feel better, promised they would refund the data recovery fee if my computer were “totally fried.” Somehow, that didn’t lift my spirits.

When I got home all I really wanted to do was crawl into a bottle of Chardonnay, but it was only 11:45am, and that’s a little early for even me. So, I did the only other thing I know to do in times of stress – I cleaned. For two hours I dusted every picture and knickknack, I oiled the floors, I vacuumed the carpet and the couch, and I cleaned out cabinets and scoured doorframes. After everything was cleaned to a shine even my mother could appreciate I sat down to relax, and was slapped in the face by the harsh reality that my computer was gone.

I started feeling very out of touch. I had no idea what was going in the world. Who was winning the South Carolina primary? I didn’t know. Was Britney Spears alive or dead? I didn’t know. Had anyone forwarded me a hilarious joke I hadn’t heard a million times before? I DIDN”T KNOW!!! Ryan tried to calm me down, saying I could read a book, or have a conversation with him, but all of those things just seemed to be pale substitutes. After all, what if he said something really funny during the conversation? I couldn’t blog about it, so what was the point? And a book? What am I, a pilgrim? Why don’t I just go out back and build a handcart? Luckily I was able to get Tara on the phone, and she understood exactly what I was going through. She talked me down, and promised to stay near her computer just in case the world came to an end and I didn’t know because I couldn’t log on to HuffingtonPost.com. I started breathing easier. Maybe it is true that everyone only has one true soul mate.

So, now here I sit, waiting to hear if anything on my computer has been salvaged. All of my music, most of my pictures, and about seven half started short stories hand in the balance. At least I’m back in touch with the word today though. Ryan took pity on me and went and got his laptop from the school. Luckily nothing horrible has happened since I’ve been offline – and I only missed one Britney drug store visit, and no new pictures of Brangelina. Also, I have had the pleasure of looking at all of my favorite gossip sites on Ryan’s computer, which means they will pop up in the tool bar when he tries to go to boringschool/politicalstuff.com. Ha, ha.

I just hope my computer is back up and running before the Oscars. I mean, there are limits to how much one person can take. Maybe I should go light a candle at the Cathedral… or the Apple Store, just in case.

Read more →

Jane

Two years ago today my friend Jane died. She had been in a coma since falling down stairs New Year’s Eve, hitting her head and giving her a severe brain bleed. For two weeks we all gathered around her hospital bed, talking and praying and hoping she would come back to us. It was about a week into it that I think we all knew she wouldn’t, but I know that most of us still can’t believe she didn’t. I still miss her every day.

Jane and I initially met in Junior High and I think it would be an understatement to say we didn’t like each other. She thought I was weird and snooty and I thought she was a freaky hippie. She was behind the worst moment of my junior high career. She put a note on my desk one day that said “Libby, grow down, you aren’t as old as you think you are.” I was crushed. So crushed in fact that I reminded her of the story almost every day once we became adults and loved to tell it at parties. She would protest that it was Trina Miller who left the note, but we both knew the truth.

We actually became friends in college, watching “Beverly Hills 90210” and eating Rice Krispie treats. After college, like so many friends do, we lost touch until 1999. My sister called to tell me a house had caught fire in Jane’s neighborhood. Turns out it was Jane’s. I sent her flowers (I didn’t know what else to do) and we started talking again. When I moved back to Salt Lake I moved into her basement and stayed there for two and a half years. We spent that time mercilessly ribbing each other in the presence of company to the point that some people thought we really didn’t like each other. That couldn’t have been further from the truth, it was just that neither one of us could back down when it came to proving who was funnier and more sarcastic. I think at times Jane was the clear winner, although I never would have admitted that to her face.

Jane was funny, smart, pretty, artistic, kind and athletic, made a mean vegetarian lasagna and loved to interject the word “vagina” randomly into conversations. That used to drive me nuts, especially around the time I was getting married. She would constantly ask me if I was nervous to lose my virginity. I actually threatened not to invite her to the wedding if she didn’t knock it off. Of course, she was there and a bridesmaid,and helped me through many moments leading it up to the big day that I’m pretty sure I would have gone crazy without her. I just didn’t let her make any toasts.

I could go into a lot more detail here. I could tell you a thousand different stories, some you would find funny, and some you would find disturbing. I could tell you how I still feel guilt because I was at a party with Jane just hours before she fell and figured she would be fine as long as she got a ride home. I could tell you about my anger after her death and how I attached it to every man who ever treated her badly (and there were lots, she had awful taste in men), or I could tell you about all the times we talked each other down when dealing with depression, or grad school, or parents, or men. I could write a trillion words and still not say everything I have to say. Let’s just leave it at this -- if I hadn’t known Jane I never would have met my husband, or most of the wonderful friends I have now. I wouldn’t have some of the happiest and balls out funniest memories of my life. Of course, I also wouldn’t have this huge hole in heart where my friend used to be, but I think that’s a small price to pay.

I love you Janie.

Read more →

Sledding

I took Luke sledding today. At first I had to go down the hill with him every time. Then he took a run by himself and figured out he could go a lot faster without my 33 year old butt on board. Of course, he did need my butt when he got to the bottom and didn't want to carry the sled back up.... I finally convinced him to pack it in when his face was bright red and he asked me to take the sled up and then come back for him.

Read more →

Miracle Cure in a Binaca Bottle

As the producer of a very important local news program I am sometimes sent press releases from authors, bands, inventors, or companies wanting to come on the show and hawk their wares. Some times, they even include a sample of the product. Over the years I have gotten numerous books, CDs of every kind of music from steel drum to gospel, foodstuffs that are better left in the lab, and numerous health supplements.

Usually I just try to give whatever it is away and politely decline having my show turned into the Home Shopping Network. After years of doing this, I thought I had put end to the mail. I mean, I haven't gotten a single diet book this year, and usually I get enough to set up a gym. But, then last week, I got yet another freebie, and this one was a doozy. It's called NutraMist. Yes, someone has finally figured out how to solve almost every health problem with a spritzer.

Let there be mist.

Not only were the good people at NutraMist good enough to send me a press release, but they also sent me one of each of their products, so I could experience myself how six sprays a day could change my life. There was one for sleep, one for immunity, one for energy, and one more which I can't remember right now, but I think it was for invisibility.

Now, on the day I received this package of medical miracles in a tube I hadn't slept a lot and was nursing a pretty serious hangover (Hi Mom!), so I grabbed for the energy booster. Kerry, the anchor of my show, who tends to turn into a mucus dripping incubus during the winter months gladly took the immunity booster. On the count of three we both sprayed, and filled our mouths with what tasted like Skittles mixed with Jagermeister. "Pleasant Fruit Flavor" my ass. Despite the taste we both took the recommended six sprays, and waited.

Know what happened? I think you already do. Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened. Kerry still got sicker, and I still felt like napping on my keyboard. I thought about spraying more in my mouth, but the taste, and the warning not to exceed six sprays a day, stopped me. After all, I'm sure these pharmaceuticals were developed by doctors with very impressive degrees from Colombian medical schools, and I feared not following directions would cause my skin to become reptilian. I quickly pushed them off my desk into the trash can, hoping they wouldn't cause a hazmat incident.

From now on I'm not even opening what ever odd press release comes my way. I'll make Albert do it, and make the calls to turn them down. I mean, unless a wine maker wants a spot on my show. Then I'll have to seriously consider it. But only if they send samples.

Read more →

When Harry Met a Big Ball of Lies

Recently my friend Jamie has become concerned about her 3-year of daughter Mary's obsession with princesses. Mary loves the stories, the movies, the songs, and recently told her parents that she is just waiting for her prince to come along and take her away. That's what really set Jamie over the edge. She's concerned that her daughter is buying into the age old idea that no woman is complete without a man to sweep her off her feet. Sure, she can be plucky and smart, beautiful and funny, but until she finds true love no girl has reached her full potential. Even if she is a princess.

Not real

While I agree with Jamie that the princess paragon is one that can warp minds, especially in the hands of Walt Disney (why don't any of them have mothers), I think there is an even darker force out there lurking, waiting to spring and twist the self -esteems of girls everywhere. Yes, I speak of the romantic comedy.

Let's face it, the romantic comedy takes the princess myth, blows it up and scatters it in little pieces all over the teenage girls drawn to it like moths to a flame. It starts out slow, with a quirky heroine every girl can relate to, living a life that any girl would want. Then there are some sort of shenanigans, the girl falls in love, falls out of love, and eventually falls back in love to finally live happily ever after. It follows the princess story perfectly, only it usually takes place in Manhattan, there are no singing animals, and the prince is usually a jerk.

Really not real

Yes, these movies show girls that the man for them is most likely the one who treats them badly, and who they despise at first sight. The more difficult the experience, the more rewarding the ending. And the quirkier the heroine, the more jerky the guy. Because quirky girls have to really work to be loved, didn't you know that? Take for example any role ever played by Meg Ryan, who sits on a throne of lies above the romantic comedy kingdom. All of the women she plays are the most adorably annoying people ever to walk the earth. Really, if you met one you would most likely punch her. But there she is, falling down, getting up, wearing iconic hair, and landing her man. Of course the man she lands is the one no one wants to date, and his friends have stopped setting up because of his lack of social skills.

Trust me on this, I spent my all of my teenage years and early 20's watching these movies, and dating jerks. The bigger the jerk, the more I was attracted. I was sure, due to my diligent studying of the Ryan cannon, that there was a heart of gold lurking within each one of them. However, the only thing usually lurking was the woman they were cheating on me with. Yeah, I'm talking about you, John Crenshaw. I was so brainwashed that when I met my sweet, sincere husband I tried to blow up any personality feature that would make him a jerk just to reassure myself things might work out. Of course, that did nothing to further our courtship, and just lead to a bunch of overly dramatic fights that we laugh about now. Well, he laughs, I just try to hide under the table out of shame.

My advice to Jamie, and the mothers of all little girls out there is to let them stay in the princess realm as long as possible. I think as they grow they will realize castles don't exist and neither do princes. Convincing them that a guy not calling them for two weeks means he cares may be harder to knock out of their heads.

Read more →

Bewildered

I have been sitting at my computer for about a half and hour either looking at the blank screen or at the snow falling outside and feeling the two are somehow connected. Right now there is no going outside because the weather is so bad, and there is nothing worth writing because my head is so snowed in. I tend to get this way when the world seems as bizarre and unreasonable as it has lately. Two things have been occupying most of my thoughts as of late, and although they are polar opposites, they seem to have a strange symmetry -- the Presidential primaries and Britney Spears. Really, it's like someone is playing a bizarre hybrid of "Meet the Press" and "Entertainment Tonight" in my head at all hours.

The Presidential primaries concern me simply because of my unhappiness with the current administration. In the past seven years I have come to understand how my parents felt during the Reagan era. At the time I just thought they were hippie radicals. I mean, really, who doesn't like the President? He's the President! And he eats jelly beans! However, now I see that Reagan's choice of candy was kind of like Bush's love of bizarre non-sequiturs -- quirky, but not funny enough to cover up a multitude of sins. Unfortunately, the way things are looking right now in the primaries I really fear I might be missing Georgie boy come January. Yes, yes, I know, it's really early in the race, but Mike Huckabee scares me. The last thing this country needs is to go more towards the evangelical Christian right. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for Jesus, I just don't think he should be Vice President. The rest of the Republicans are almost as bad, with cellophane man Mitt Romney, senile John McCain, and pimp daddy Rudy Giuliani. Of course, most people I've talked to say there is no way a Republican will be elected. It's a race for the Democrats to lose. However, I've watched the Democrats over the past eight years, and they seem to really like losing. They may just make this their coup de grâce. Then the next two party election will be between the Republicans and the Whigs. Also, I don't know how I feel about the Democratic offerings. Obama and Hillary both don't have a lot of experience and tend to remind me of excellent mimics, rather than true leaders. I like John Edwards, but he doesn't have the razzle dazzle the other two do. Ryan likes Dennis Kucinich, but then again he also likes pickled herring.

Of course, as all the major networks constantly remind us, many people don't have any idea who is even running for President -- or that there is a presidential election this year at all. However, most of them can name both of Britney Spears children and tell you exactly what she was doing last night. Honestly, could the media attention being put on this woman be any greater. I really don't know who I feel worse for: Britney, her children, or the hundreds of people who have sold their souls to the devil in order to take money off chronicling her every move. I mean, let's face it, Satan has to be head of programming at TMZ. Then, of course, there is Jamie Lynn, who has pretty much been forgotten in the wake of Britney's meltdown, even though she went to all the trouble of getting knocked up.

I think though, the person I feel the most sorry for in all of this is me. I cannot beleive how much time I have spent reading about it, seeing it on television, and thinking about it. Really, I expect to start picking out yellow wallpaper soon just to have something else to fixate on. Why am I so obsessed? What does this have to do with my life? How does this effect me at all? And then I come to my answer. It doesn't. What happens with Britney has nothing to do with my life. That makes her so much easier to think about then say, the presidental elections. Both make me feel angry, and digusted, and somewhat impotent, but the outcome of one won't impact the future of my civil rights. Unless Britney decides to run for President.

Now I'm really scared.

Read more →

Stuff Me

2008! Woo hoo! Dance like a monkey!

All over the world today people are signing up for gyms, buying high fiber foods, and making plans with their families that they most likely will never keep. I have toyed with a number of resolutions for the year, including losing weight, learning a new language, swearing less, and volunteering for charity work. However, today at about 2:12pm it became crystal clear what my mission should be in the next year: to avoid ever again setting foot in a "Build a Bear Workshop."

For Christmas my friends Jamie and Jen gave Luke a gift certificate to "Build a Bear" so that he and their two children could spend an afternoon carelessly enjoying bringing new stuffed friends to life. At first I thought "oh, how nice," but now I just pretty much want them both to go to hell. No matter what anyone tells you, "Build a Bear" is nothing but a soul sucking vortex of misery.

When we got there the line to pick out an animal and get it stuffed was at least sixteen people long and not all of them were kids. In fact, just behind us a young couple were there to make bears as part of their honeymoon celebration. I guess Disneyland was too expensive. There was also a woman picking out a pink leopard without any irony. I'm sure it looks lovely on her twin bed under her Shawn Cassidy poster.

The line moved at a glacial pace, and not just because they only had one "stuffer" open. No, it was due to the fact that every child was put through a bizarre ritual that involved hugging the new stuffed animal, kissing a little heart to put inside of them, and then making a "very special wish." The girl in charge of stuffing was not going to let any child pass without carefully completing each step. While we waited another "Build a Bear" employee went through the line talking to each child about how very special their new friend would be, and encouraging them to pick out a wonderful and unique outfit to dress them in. Yeah, wonderful, unique, and $25 bucks. Finally, I asked the girl why she didn't get stuffing to get the line moving. Her response was something I would expect to hear from an elf. She said "I'm not a stuffer, I'm a helper." What I would have given for a Nerf bat at that moment.

Finally we got up to the front and the kids got their animals (dinosaurs for the boys, a pink fluffy poodle for Jamie's daughter) filled with whatever carcinogenic fluff they use. I don't know why anyone would think this was fun or magical, because to me it just looked like the poor stuffed animal was undergoing a harsh, and invasive medical procedure, kind of like liposuction in reverse. The kids loved it though, especially when they got to pick how soft or stuffed their animal would be.

I really thought that after the stuffing we could just pick out an outfit, pay the bill, and get the hell out of there. Oh, no. First you have to "bathe" your new friend. And then you have to "fluff" them. I'm guessing that whoever invented "Build a Bear" is not familiar with porn film vernacular, or I think that station may have been named something different.

After the stuffed animal is "washed" and "fluffed" it is time to pick out an outfit, and then sign over the deed to your house. The stuffed animals at "Build a Bear" have more wardrobe choices than the Gabor sisters, and each one dips into your wallet just a little further. I mean, why would you buy your stuffed animal a shirt and pants and then deny them shoes? What kind of heartless animal are you? And what about hats? Or coats? Or little stupid plastic cell phones? Or underwear? Yes, they have no genitals, and nothing to cover up, but dammit there are standards of decency! And the entire time Jen, Jamie, and I were trying to convince the children they did not need full layettes for their dolls there were "helpers" trying to convince them they did. These women scared me, because I think several of them were doing it for more than sales goals. They were those kind of plump, very smiley girls that everyone knows in high school. The ones who bake brownies for teachers, have pictures of kittens hanging in their lockers, go to pep rallies, and eventually will have an addiction to prescription medications. I think they were really concerned that the little stuffed darlings wouldn't be happy without the perfect boots to go with their fireman outfits. Hell, one of them almost had me convinced until Luke, now the voice of reason, said "but he's a dinosaur, so I think he has pretty tough feet." Thank God he didn't pick a bear with tender feet.

I was shocked at the price of the thing when all was said and done. 36 bucks. For that much money not only do I want the bear to come stuffed, but I also want it to sing. According to Jamie I got off pretty easily, and her step-daughter had on occasion made bears that cost upwards of 75 dollars. For that the damn thing better clean my house.

The only thing that gave me any joy during the whole experience was when we filled out the "birth certificate" for Jason the firefighting dinosaur I got to put my sister's address down. I hope she enjoys what I'm almost certain will be an inundation of "Build a Bear" propaganda. Heh, heh. Because while I will be avoiding "Build a Bear" like the plague Luke expressed an interest to go back almost immediately after we left. And she is his mother...

Read more →